


Turning Gears

by YoungSoon



Series: Mechanical Feelings [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Monsta X Bingo, Romance, Science Fiction, Steampunk, Wonkyun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungSoon/pseuds/YoungSoon
Summary: In a world where tall chimneys spat tar black smoke in the sky that once used to be blue, science has advanced to an extent no one even dreamed about. Prosthetic limbs molded from metal, able to lift trains; small simple pills in the color of the menacing smoke that gave energy for days, locomotives that could run for days.Somewhere in the middle of it all more than one thing had gone wrong - humans cutting their own arms off to get a gadget made of steel, pills driving people insane and turning them into ghouls - a handful of skilled individuals tried to fight against it.And somewhere in the middle of it all, in an unexpected way love bloomed, naively hoping to in over the fog embraced reality and seeing the sky again.





	Turning Gears

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=mmvh4p)  
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _Steampunk_** is a subgenre of science fiction or science fantasy that incorporates technology and aesthetic designs inspired by 19th-century industrial steam-powered machinery. Steampunk works are often set in an alternative history of the 19th century's British Victorian era or American "Wild West", in a future during which steam power has maintained mainstream usage, or in a fantasy world that similarly employs steam power.

Rustling and footsteps echoes around a room that looks as if it could not provide any echo at all, being as strange of a phenomenon as near each item in the room itself. 

A large wooden table with intricate flower ornaments lacing its sides and legs stands next to a large 28-square window. The deep, almost muddy brown surface is covered with books - three mighty stacks of them, each having from 5 to 7 books, to be exact. A cylinder as tall as a wine bottle but as wide as two stands dangerously close to the edge, balancing on the very corner with rolls of paper - diagrams, schemes and layouts drawn on them in ink both black and blue. On the other corner of the table stood a cylinder of similar size, perhaps one bottle neck shorter than the other, rulers, pens, pencils, feathers and dividers poking out of it. Three different ink jars nestled between a stack of books and the drawing utensils, a small box for graphite next to it. A fresh sheet of parchment rested in the very middle of it all, just few circles drawn on it for now, the name of the project unknown. No chair was next to the table.

A light bulb - something still new and bizarre even in this room - shined right above the table. A thick wire connected it to another one few ceiling panels further, and another to the right and one more to the left - all together connecting 7 shining sources of light in the room, their wires sneaking around and over huffing and puffing metal pipes and tubes across the ceiling. They all were connected with a small, buzzing machine in the far corner of the room - hidden behind a shelf that reached from the floor to the ceiling and was good 4 meters long. The bottom part of it contained drawers with what looked to once be silver handles that now were worn down to the black and brown copper beneath it. The top part was compiled of open shelves of various sizes and shapes, the oddest things resting on them.

There was a hand - a human hand - on one compartment, but instead of flesh and bones it was crafted from small metal rods and gears. It had wires stretching out from where the ligaments and veins should be and if a mechanical human would exist, this would probably be how his hand would look. The next shelf contained boxes, each box containing an eye which were balls of metal - gears, miniature rods, tiniest wires, glass lenses and colored crystals. They couldn’t perform as well as a human eye, not yet at least, but it did not mean they were not needed.

The higher the shelf the odder the content got. Arms that hid knives in between the published rods, legs that had small guns comfortably sitting between gears, eyes that could be extracted like binoculars of a sailor. The shelf was like a store of a magician filled with wonders, whilst its owner was a man of science and technology. 

A leather chair - one typical for a dentist or a barber - stood near the said shelf. A rather small, four leveled case of drawers was next to it, containing tools, bolts and spare rods. Rather miniature version of a blow torch stood on it along it with two sets of glasses. One resemble those of lapidary or jeweler, while the others looked like eyes of a flying insect - large and shiny. An intricate wooden chair with only the polstered flower seat left - all four legs curved and wrapped in carved wines matching the fabric on top - stood next to it.

Further away from the buzzing generator and valuable shelf a small fireplace crackled away, a small cooking surface on top of it where a kettle slowly was coming up to a boil. A small area that could be presumed to be kitchen hid in the shadow filled corner behind the crackling fireplace. Its fiery mouth was covered with thick metal bars and long, red shadows fell on the concrete floor. Dim light fell from the two, large, almost wall-height 28 square windows. It mixed together with the scalding shadows and flickering light bulbs, creating an oddly calm but eerie atmosphere.  

Three doors led away from the room. One - a large, black door of heavy wood with several keys and bolts led to the busy, dirty and always loud streets of London. The second - much lighter both in weight and color - guided to an operation room where the strange mechanical wonders joined their owners. While the third - a metal door - led to a small angar, a garage of sort where larger creations were dealt with.

The metal doors were the ones to open first. A man staggered through them carrying a lather large box with gears upon gears stacked in it, each muscle in his thick arms tensed. His hair was ruby red and tousled in a nest-like mess. What looked like smudges of sooth and oil were evident a the front where fingers would run through them to smooth them away from one’s face. The usually disobedient bangs were now pushed back with another pair of bug-like goggles, revealing a handsome face. It was a marvelous contrast of round shapes - full cheeks, rounded nose and luscious lips - and sharp edges - defined jawline and fierce eyes. 

The box landed on the floor next to the desk with a loud clunk. He rubbed his forehead with his leather glove covered hand as he looked at the near blank piece of paper on the table. He grabbed the glove between his teeth above the ring finger and pulled it off. His hand grabbed a pencil from the holder and drew series of lines over the circles, connecting and matching them together. Notes were added to the side in a handwriting almost calligraphic before he dropped the pencil and pulled his glove back on.

The red-hair was just about to leave through the metal door again when a loud knock at the front door stopped him. He took his gloves off, throwing them in the box of gears, and removed the black leather apron he was wearing over a moss green shirt with sleeves rolled up and the three buttons it had at the top open and the simple black pants, tucked into heavy black boots. He hanged the said apron on a cloth rack under a wooden staircase that led to the second floor near the metal door and made his way across the room.

Only one of the many locks and bolts were closed during the day, so it was not much of a hustle to open the door. All of the locks were closed at night, when he was resting at the top floor in his room. He was about to give his usual greeting, until he saw the face greeting him behind the door.

“Changkyunnie!” the man exclaimed, throwing his muscular arms around the slightly shorter and smaller built man in excitement. “Finally! You’ve been away for so long,” he said pulling the brunette in front of him as close as he could, the man returning the hug with just one hand.

“I’m glad to see you too, Wonho,” he said with and evident smile in his voice.

The red hair pulled away to take a better look at the guest he had missed so dearly. He was wearing the usual white shirt and grey vest combo with the brown, long coat over it. It was as if his trademark look and Wonho couldn’t deny it looked good on him. What was odd was that his left hand had not moved a bit, not even when they shared an embrace. He looks at the limb hidden by the coat and frowns.

“What happened?” Wonho asks, knowing well enough the man before him was very unsuccessfully trying to hide something from him. He always did that - hid things that were mostly silly as the biggest secrets. However this time it didn’t feel like it was something minor, as ChangKyun’s eyes avoided Wonho’s.

“We had a small hiccup during a mission in the workers village outside the city,” the brunette admits. “Can we go inside?” he asks, properly looking at Wonho who is frowning even more, but nods and leads the way into the main room. He let’s ChangKyun walk by him before closing and locking the door again - this time with two of the locks - and then turns back to the man. The coat is now off and Wonho let’s out gasp. 

The man’s right arm is a full metal prosthetic - each rod, each gear, each wire assembled by Wonho himself already years ago. He had tuned the artificial ligaments, changed the screws, exchanged rods to lighter ones - it was his work at its finest, something he was proud off as it contained no hidden tricks, but could win over all of them. It was a one of a kind piece made only for ChangKyun. However now all of it below the elbow looked like it had been torn apart by a raging beast.

“What the hell happened?” Wonho walks over to the man now standing in the middle of the room and lifts the destroyed arm up to take a better look. One of the bigger rods - equivalents to a radius bone - is gone. Several of the smaller ones that connected the gears looked as if they were torn off, some of them barely hanging there, some gone completely. Most phalanges were deformed and it looked like something had bitten them.

“We visited a family that had allegedly stolen a large amount of worker supplements. It wasn’t just allegedly. The children had slipped into coma due to overdose, while the mother and father had slipped into the ghoul phase already,” ChangKyun explained while Wonho guided him to the chair near the shelf. The red hair rummaged to 3 drawers, collecting spare parts and placing them on the smaller tool table, his face making the oddest, most concerned frown ChangKyun had ever seen.

“The mother was rather easy to capture, however the father who had obviously taken the biggest dosage had gone full berserk. I had the only somewhat combat prosthetic at the moment, so… I took him on,” ChangKyun continues and the frown on Wonho’s face only grows bigger as he sits down on the smaller chair and puts on the glasses meant for more intricate work and begins inspecting the damage.

“It went fine, kind of, but he didn’t enjoy the fact that we were trying to tie him up, so he attacked even more fiercely. It was impossible to stop him with our usual methods as he had pushed me to the ground and was about to bite my face off, so I stuffed the hand that does not feel pain his mouth to keep in him place and jammed one of the metallic bones in his neck.” he ends the sentence and at the same moment Wonho stops all of his actions as well. 

“You did this yourself? How?” he asks still looking at the arm rather than ChangKyun.

“I guess the screws were loosened by me punching him or…” the brunette tries to explain but Wonho stops him mid sentence. 

“Impossible. I tightened each bolt myself. They can’t ‘come loose’ from punching. What are you skipping in your story?” he looks up and takes off the glasses, locking his eyes with ChangKyun’s.

“Some of my punches might have been caught and I might have been swung around the room like a ragdoll a bit,” ChangKyun admits unwillingly. He well knows what kind of reaction it will cause - that is why he was hiding this information - but when asked directly he couldn’t lie. Not to Wonho.

“That means not only this arm got hurt, right?” comes another question and ChangKyun can just nod when replying to it. “You seem fine now, so exactly when did the mission end as you had time to heal?” comes another question and ChangKyun silently curses himself as he already sees where this is going. It always happened like this, but he never learned from his mistakes.

“Around a week and a half ago,” ChangKyun replies unwillingly and regrets it. Wonho calmly places the tools he was holding on the small table, stands up and walks over to the kettle that started to whistle on the other side of the room as if knowing its queue. 

“So you were injured, with your right arm in this miserable state and you seriously didn’t think about letting me know?” Wonho sounds almost furious, as if he is keeping back a lot and in a way ChangKyun could understand. He had kept his injuries hidden other times, but it had never been more than few bruises or scratches.

“It would not have been helpful at all,” ChangKyun sits up in the chair a little. “I know you can’t work if you’re worried and knowing you, you would close the workshop and rush to me, which would be even less productive.”

“Don’t I have the right to do so? To worry, to go to you when you’re hurt. At the very least to know what’s going on with you?” Wonho looks at him with almost a look of betrayal in his eyes.

“You do. You absolutely do, just…”

“Just what?” the red hair interrupts him again. “Just what ChangKyun?” he asks and the brunette has nothing to say. He can’t respond to the question at all. He is in absolute loss as he didn’t expect this reunion after two weeks to go like this. Then again what did he expect? That Wonho would blindly believe all he said? The man was not a fool and ChangKyun could not trick him, he already knew that.

“Unbelievable,” Wonho lets out a sight and walks pass ChangKyun and straight through the metal door that was still open. The room turns quiet with nothing but the buzzin generator, crackling fire and humming of the pipes. 

“Damn it,” ChangKyun utters before jumping off the chair and walking to the angar. 

The ceiling is much higher, pipes and wires snaking around contraptions meant to lift and move heavy objects; hooks and chains hanging from beams and tracks similar of those of the railway. Even though more spacious - tools placed in shelves and boxes near the door, a row of organized materials of various sizes resting against the opposite wall - the room seemed louder and more crowded. Perhaps it was because of the large boiler at the furthest corner, that distributed steam to the mechanism around the workshop, or perhaps it was the huge whatever-it-was that stood in the middle of the room.

It looked like a locomotive, but at the same time it didn’t as it wasn’t as long. The strange thing had holes in the sides as if something was meant to be attached to it and it looked like it had one like that at the top too. It gave a feeling of a body with all limbs ripped off or simply not attached yet. It was beyond ChangKyun’s knowledge and vocabulary to describe what Wonho was making.

The red-hair was currently under the huge machine that was lifted from the floor with hooks and chains, only his legs peeking out from under it. One could hear metal clanking against metal, the sound of bolts tightening and gears being turned manually, but ChangKyun was pretty sure those were unnecessary actions and it was more of a hiding than work spot now.

He walked over to the metal monster in making and sat down on the concrete floor. “I’m sorry,” he begins and lets out a long exhale. “I should have sent a messenger of where I was and what condition I was in and that I was okay,” ChangKyun admits his fault in the situation. There is, however, no response. 

“You have all the right to know,” he continues. “But you have to admit you tend to react to things out of proportion. Even when we first met, when you made the first arm for me…” ChangKyun looks at the complex piece that for years had replaced his own arm, “You almost kicked Kihyun out for letting someone as young as me on missions and not preventing me from getting hurt. And no one talks back to Kihyun,” he smiled vaguely. 

“I have to admit that was one of the reasons I got so attached to you. Because you cared so much. I kind of felt special, even though I knew you cared for everyone like that. Maybe that’s why I wanted to be even more special and I started to come by more often, made fake complaints just to sit in that room and watch you concentrate on work,” ChangKyun looked at the fade shine of the metal of his arm. “To think of it, I have tried to mask the truth about so many things since we met, I can’t even blame you for always asking extra questions and making sure I’m not hiding something.”

“Shouldn’t I be used to it then?” comes a question from under the machine in making. The clanking and rustling has stopped, both of Wonho’s arms resting by his sides. “I should know by now that this is how you are and live with it,” he ads “but I can’t help to worry, you know, because you are far more special than anyone.” there’s a small movement as if Wonho was about to get out from under his new project, but decided to stay the last second.

“I am always worried about you and a letter telling me what actually happens won’t hurt me. Not knowing is more painful. I… I always fear one day, out of nowhere, that arm will be the only thing I will get back and I won’t even see that coming,” Wonho admits and it sounds like his voice is breaking along with his heart from the thought alone.

“Wonho, come out of there, please,” ChangKyun requests and it takes a moment for the red-hair to actually comply. He sits on the floor next to ChangKyun, goggles covering his eyes, hair a mess in all directions and he looks like an adorable red lady-bug sadly sitting in the middle of the room. 

With his functioning hand ChangKyun moves the bug-like goggles off Wonho’s face - two watery, sad but insanely beautiful eyes looking at him. “That won’t happen,” he tries to reassure with a smile and leans over, leaving a peck on the corner of Wonho’s lips. “I have scored the most popular man in this damn city despite being this awkward, truth hiding mess and I am not letting go,” he adds and this time Wonho leans forward, pressing their lips together for just the shortest moment.

“Why must you always do this?” the red-hair asks, their faces still close.

“I guess I can’t help it,” ChangKyun replies with a smile. “How about we have some tea, fix up my arm a bit and then just catch up, hm?” he continues and Wonho nods with a smile. His fears were not erased and they were still alive at the back of his head, but for now he couldn’t let them win over. Neither could he stay angry at ChangKyun as he understood his reasoning far too well.

 

Hours have passed. Two empty tea mugs are left on the small kitchen top behind the fireplace. Old, broken and deformed metal bones rest on the small work table in midst of new and old bolts and screws, gears and wires. All locks are now locked on the front door, the doors leading to the angar closed as well. The lightbulbs are turned off and the generator is no longer buzzin leaving the first floor of the workshop is quiet if not the puffing of the pipes filled with steam from the boiler. However, mall chatter, lovely words whispered dearly and laughter can be heard on the second floor.

The room is dim, only one petrol lamp standing on a nightstand next to the bed lights it up. The only window is covered with thick curtains, the doors leading downstairs are closed and it’s just the two of them in the room. There are no fears, no hidden truths, nothing at all between them and it’s the best feeling - they can’t deny it.

Shivers run through Wonho’s whole being as the cold metal fingers trace over the bare skin of his sides and thighs, but it’s a shiver of excitement. It’s almost fascinating how the heat radiating from both of their bodies, the heat that makes the air in the room heavy and steamy is not enough to warm of the artificial bones and gears. It’s a marvelous contrast between the near scalding hotness of their bare skin touching, their uneven breathes mixing and the cooling, almost icy touch of the metal. But it’s perfectly exciting.

Their voices resonate around the room that has nothing more but the bed, the nightstand and a wardrobe and bounce back at them. Each gasp, each inhale, each moan returns to them with even more force and it’s almost obscene. The sound of skin slapping against skin, messy moan filled kisses and growls that sounds somewhat similar to their names.

It’s a mess of tangled limbs and two bodies melting together as one; of lips meeting in heated dance, tongues craving to taste more. The sheets are somewhere on the floor, the bed creaks and moans along with the two men on it and the temperature only rises. It as if melts away the tension of their reunion hours earlier, it melts away worries and white-lies - it all evaporates in the air around them and disappears, at least for now.

The room finally sinks in a relaxing quietness near dawn, when deep orange, rusty sun peaks at the horizon somewhere behind the thick curtain of fog and smog. The air is still heavy and heated, the cooling touch of the metal arm wrapped around Wonho’s waist was the perfect sensation, topped only by its owners the messy mop of hair resting on his chest. Fears, insecurities, worries, stress - it all had disappeared in the air and will now be swept away by the hidden yet still present morning light. 

Who knows for how long it will last this time -  a week, maybe two or maybe just few days before Changkyun is required in a mission again, but until that moment it didn’t matter. This world was too dangerous, too unstable to hang on to few wrong words or miscalculated decisions, especially when the person one loved and adored could disappear forever in a blink of an eye.

Wonho wraps his arms tightly around the man sleeping on top of him and presses a kiss on top of his head. This is what matters. And nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this, as industrial revolution fiction and steampunk is something I enjoy. This work is also inspired by Fullmetal Alchemist and 'Fighter' MV, but just a little bit.  
> I will definitely write more from this AU both during the bingo and after it, so stick around!
> 
> Find me on: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeanSensei)  
>  **OTHER WONKYUN**  
>  **||** [WonKyun drabbles : The Last Of The Real Ones ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358346) **||** [The Blue Flower ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245657) **||** [Come Back Alive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411509) **||** [Addiction Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/581722) **||** [Leashes and Kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740334) **||** [Ribbons and Rings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198269) **||** [I'm Thankful for You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8347240) **||** [Silent Appreciation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733332) **||** [Worth It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570284) **||** [Beneath The Surface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604883) **||** [A Little Less 16 Candles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810344) **||**


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